In the Dark of the Night
by NSwisher1572
Summary: John Grayson's thoughts the night his son was chosen to be an assassin by the Court of Owls. One-shot. Based on the "Night of the Owls" storyline.


**A/N: **A one-shot fic that could easily be a teaser for an upcoming story of mine. I read "A Mother's Lament," another one-shot about the Court of Owls by White-Tigers-of-Darkness, and was inspired to write something of my own. I don't think this is nearly as good as that one, but I tried. In any case, it's from a different POV ("A Mother's Lament" was from Mary Grayson's point of view, while this one is from John's). It also takes place on the night Dick was chosen to be a Talon.

...I don't know what to say, can you tell? I'm just not satisfied with this story... something about it feels... gah. I don't know. I just don't like it that much, but I figured it's the best you'll get from me right now, concerning the CoO storyline anyway. Tell me if it's as terrible as I feel it is ' 3'

**Disclaimer: **I in no way own Batman, the Court of Owls, or Dick Grayson. It's almost enough to make me cry. Quick, someone play me a song on the World's Smallest Violin while I weep dramatically!

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_**In the Dark of the Night**_

He held Mary as she cried, the hot tears streaming down her face and into his shirt. He could feel them soak through to his skin, reminding him painfully, so painfully, of what exactly was happening. Karla sat beside Mary, on his right, crying just as hard. She was doing her best to comfort her sister-in-law, rubbing small circles in Mary's back and stroking her red-blonde hair. Richard was on his left, arm wrapped around his shoulders. His older brother's face was blank, dull; as if he was in shock. Who could blame him? John felt about ready to collapse himself. He was completely numb inside, and it made him feel like a monster. Why wasn't he crying? He should be weeping so much it dehydrated him. His son was about to disappear from their lives - forever. His lack of tears made him a terrible father.

Little John was asleep in the other room, blissfully unaware of what was going on with his family. The thin cloth that separated the small trailer wasn't much, so the adults were doing their best to keep quiet. If the thirteen-year-old were to wake up, they'd have to scrap together a lame excuse that he obviously wouldn't buy. Dick was in there with him, but there was no danger of him waking. He was only eight, and after such a wonderful performance tonight, he was sleeping much deeper than he usually would. He had done so well... he was a natural, a beautiful little bird flying up on the trapeze... their little Robin... and he deserved the rest more than any of them.

Richard and Karla's son would have no idea what happened to his baby cousin. When he woke up one morning soon, and Dick wasn't there, he'd ask where the boy who was practically his best friend had gone. The other Graysons would share a mournful look and tell him Dick had been in an unfortunate accident in the dark of the night. They would tell little John that Dick had died. And the tears would come. But they would be tears caused by a lie... a lie centuries old.

They would know. John and Mary, Richard and Karla... Pop Haley... the other adults of the circus... they would all know the truth. But little John would have no idea. Raya Vestri, Dick's closest friend, would have no idea. Her older brother Raymond, he would have no idea. None of the children would. Only the adults were to carry the burden of their horrible secret - and even though they all carried it together, there was no sense of community in their shared pain.

Because Dick had been chosen. Out of all the other children who had performed earlier tonight, Dick had been chosen. Gotham's Children Night was an event that happened once every generation, and it was seen as one of the many peaks in the mountain that was Haley's International Traveling Circus. For one night, the young ones in the circus could outshine their parents and older family members. For one night, they could show exactly what they had, everything they'd been learning, and be applauded completely for it. For one night, the Court of Owls watched from the shadows, searching with sharp eyes for the one who would continue their legacy.

It was Dick.

He was just an eight-year-old boy. So young, so small. What had they seen in him?

_That's stupid, _John thought spitefully, brow drawing down. _They saw what everyone else does. A talented, intelligent, beautiful eight-year-old boy. And they want him. _He drew in a shaky breath and pulled his weeping wife closer. Mary clutched to his shirt for dear life, ignoring the coos of Karla and the way Richard put his head in his hands at the sight of her. She could do nothing but mourn for her son. John swallowed hard, willing his own tears to come. He thought about what would happen to Dick, hoping that would inspire the aching despair that Mary so obviously felt.

Dick would be stolen. One night soon, as he was sleeping... the Court would surround their trailer. They would come, silently, and take him away. The rest of the circus would be awake, all except for the children, not daring to peek out at the Graysons' trailer but knowing what was going on as they cried and shook in their own domains. John and Mary would sit there and watch with dull eyes as Dick attempted to scream for their help. He would look at them with those stunning blue eyes of his that could put the sky to shame, tears overflowing, and see only his beloved parents watching as he was kidnapped. Karla and Richard would pretend to be asleep, as they were only the aunt and uncle, nothing important in the Court's many eyes. Dick would start screaming for their help once he realized his parents would not move, muffled by a hand, and despair when they didn't stir from their slumber. He would be taken from their trailer, taken from the circus... and the next day, they would all discover the scene of a horrible "accident" that claimed young Dick Grayson's life. The children would cry. So would the adults. But for completely different reasons.

While they were all mourning the loss of Dick, the children at his death and the adults at his fate, the Court of Owls would begin their training. They would train Dick mercilessly, berating him when he cried, kicking him to get up when he fell down. They would never let up. The years would go by, and the training would just keep on going... and Dick would grow colder... grow used to the abuse and his fight-for-survival surroundings... and he would become what the Court wanted him to be. A skilled fighter. An intelligent spy. A perfect athlete. The Talon - the greatest assassin in the world. And they would send him out to kill. Force John's sweet, caring, loving little boy to murder people and cry victory at the sight of their blood. Dick would do it, just as they had taught him. Gotham would call him only a legend, as if he'd never existed, even though he _so clearly _had, but the mysterious dead bodies of his targets would never get any justice.

John would never be able to watch Dick grow up. He would become a teenager with the Court. He would grow into a young adult with the Court. He would flourish into a handsome young man... with the Court. They wouldn't care at all, how strong he was getting or how big... all they would care about was their training, and whether or not Dick could kill a person with a throwing knife from fifty yards away.

Dick was no longer his little boy. Dick was no longer Mary's son, or Karla and Richard's nephew, or little John's cousin. He was no longer Pop Haley's surrogate grandson, or the surrogate son, nephew, or brother of anyone else in this circus. He was the Court's property and assassin now. That was the only way the circus could go on, after all. Without the protection of the Court of Owls, Haley's Circus would have died out a long time ago. They needed the Court to protect them. And if the Court asked for his son in return... well... there was nothing he could do about that.

At this, John finally began to cry. The burn at the back of his throat was welcome, as was the blurring and wavering of his vision. He let the tears come, encouraged them, and buried his face into Mary's hair, chest wracked with silent sobs. Richard patted his shoulder, but he ignored it. For all that was happening now, he could feel satisfied. He was crying.

Maybe he wasn't a terrible father after all.

_Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them, or they'll send the Talon for your head._


End file.
